


Like An Animal

by Fenmoor



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Coffee Mugs & Lots Of Thinking, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9425423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenmoor/pseuds/Fenmoor
Summary: Junkrat wakes up and reflects on what he finds next to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is, like, the first thing I post and I forgot the original purpose of this fic, so, yeah, I rewrote some stuff and now it's just tooth-rotten sugary. Not a native speaker so, yeah. I spell-checked multiple times, so I hope it's okay???

Junkrat woke up, naked and without his uncomfortable surrogate limbs, in a room he was sure it was not his. His eyelids fluttered as the first rays of sunlight flooded inside, lightening up the chamber and kissing his bare skin. He still was not used to the middle European climate and he could not quite get over the fact that even in summer, there was quite the possibility that you wake up with a gentle chill when you sleep with an opened window. He usually avoided this problem, this and the over-stimulation of his light receptors by sunlight, by keeping the window shades down and his windows closes. Sure, this led to his room smelling … funny … and people refusing to enter his very private halls, but it was probably better that way. His room was a mess, drills, screws and used towels laying around everywhere, scrap metal plates, blots, studs, unused joints covering the floor. The scent of iron, soot and black powder must have been seeped trough the walls of his room, probably leaving a stinging smell for a while.

 

But this was different. The bed he laid in and everything around him smelled fresh. It was the odour of chilly water, of flowers and fruits he could not tell apart and of skin covered in sweat. Most people would have been repealed by the thought of sniffing sweaty human skin, but Junkrat however did not mind. He was used to it, spending day and night outside in the heat of the wilderness of Australia, practically cuddling with a mountain of a man to his side who, much like him, never had much time to take care of his personal hygiene. This was not a sticky necessity, not huddling together out of paranoia to be alone and get shot in your sleep. This was nothing like the Outback.

 

It was the first time in years he did not feel alarmed, did not want to get out of bed as soon as possible, did not want to pack and hit the road again. His heartbeat was so unusually slow, Junkrat wondered if he is going to die any second, but he realised that his calmness was not threatening his life. He was at total peace, his tired eyes wandering down the cause of all this unusualness:

Under his thin sheets a naked body pressed against him, her face turned to his chest as if she wants to hide a soft blush on her cheeks. The innocence in her pose, one arm covering her breasts, the other one holding his waist while her slightly crossed legs tangled between his upper legs, all this made his guts warm up, but not as warm as the skin that she touched. She was warm and soft and bordering perfection and he kind of wondered why she deserved someone as scrappy as him as her night-guest. He felt smitten to her, as if her curves and naval and shoulders were made to fit his body, made to warm him and keep his anxiety and tenseness away as long as they hold each other. He tried to recall how he ended up laying there, even giving up any chance to flee by taking off his prosthesis and his peg leg.

 

If it was a fling, he would have kept it on, leaving immediately like a beast of the run and probably never let a word about it coming out of his mouth again, maybe one or two jokes and a bit of teasing. He would have lived his life like it was before and keeping the little snowflake to his side busy nagging about … well, about him. It was not like he disliked her, she just did not see why she was always bickering and whining when he was around. He would give her a smirk and crack a cocky remark and she would defend herself. And when she was going to tell him her opinion about him, he would do the same. They were never close, never friends and hardly team mates.

She knew what he thought of Overwatch and never understood Winston's decision to invite Junkrat and Roadhog to join their task force, neither did she expect them to actually accept. The both were dirty renegades, thieves and murderous criminals, not much better than the Overwatch's countless opponents. Thinking about it, maybe that was Winston's ambition to have them join their association (“Fighting fire with fire” to some extent).

Junkrat did not believe in second chances and he would not doubt she did not as well. They tried getting along to not blow each other up or freeze one to death and that were the only thing, safe to say, they agreed on; being professional and not killing each other.

Junkrat and Roadhog were surprisingly capable to keep low profile and not getting involved into too much trouble on their stay in several watchpoints and missions (on the way to the watchpoints, however …) and kept to themselves, hardly joining any activities that were supposed to gain the trust of each team member and promote team spirit (much to Commander Morrison's dismay).

He tried to remember how he happened to end up here, he remembered tears and hugs and guilt and her sugar-coated little _Sorry, sorry!'_ s escaping her lips, he remembered pressing her down and little promises of comfort, _shushs_ and _There, th_ _e_ _re_ 's, he remembered them all so well, like the taste of her lips and breasts and how desperate she was. He wanted to tell himself that this had no meaning, that this was a _one-time-thing_ , but he knew how one times work, how they feel, how they leave you satisfied, but empty. He _only_ knew _one-time-things_ and right under his fingertips was she, a great ocean of possible _more than just once_.

 

His hand reached her face, shoving a single string of brown hair from her nose behind her ear, careful not to wake her. He signed mentally, feeling him becoming more and more unable to hold still and enjoy their togetherness. He slipped away from her, slowly untangling their legs and pulling the blankets up enough for her to not miss the human warmth beside her too much. Putting on his prosthesis and the peg leg, he picks up his clothes silently (or as silent as he could be with a squeaking, rusty metal arm and an unstable metal peg leg). Then he stood still for a moment.

 

His eyes wander over to the bed and to her sleeping figure and, oh Lord, how much he wanted to return to this bed, letting his finger wander over her warm skin to discover every square centimetre of it (much like he did the night before), connecting their lips and devouring all the little moans she had to offer. His heart was pounding by the mere thought and there he stood, first thinking he would have his kingdom come because of how calm and sated he was and now, like a new page has turned, feeling a shiver of hunger and excitement running down his spine. He could have taken her by surprise, kissing his way down to her breasts and belly and finding sweet relief in her weak protests because he knew she was too kind to push him away. But he stopped himself.

 

He was not good at this. At plans (making them, yes, but sticking to them? Not really …), at being nice, at everything decent and Hell, not to mention kind. She called him an animal, so many times and he would always brush it off like it did not mean a thing. And then, he would eat with his bare hands, wash on as often has his own nostrils with bear with him and rant and chant. He could climb and hide and squeak like a rat and loved the scrapyard as much as one. _Yes_ , he thought, _you could say I am an animal …_

And it sank in. He really was not good at with people, not with the her calibre. With all the self-control he could gather he turned to the door and with a swift opening and closing sound, he left her. She did not notice a thing for another hour or so and he was glad about it.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.-.

 

She felt a little colder when she woke up. Her eyelids fluttered lightly and her hands formed fists to rub off the sand in her eyes. When she reached out to grab her glasses, her hands found a warm porcelain object -a mug?- in the way. When she finally got to the case of her classes and eagerly put them on, she found herself startled. Yes, there was a mug, two in fact, filled with clear black coffee that smelled strongly and fresh and immediately warmed her fingers when she took one in both hands. It was only then that she noticed the water running in the shower and how it stopped of her dorm and the steam coming inside from the open bathroom door. The relief of her confusion came in the form of a wet Jamison Fawkes stepping into her private chambers again, holding on of her towels barely over his hips while he tried to rub his hair dry with a smaller towel in the other, more metallic hand. He saw her sitting on the bed, still mostly covered in the duvet and let out an annoyed groan. “Roight, o' course I was gunna wake ya up dat way.”, his hand fell from his head over his eyes as he proceed walking towards her and eventually sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

“Have you made …?”, Mei started the sentence, but it discontinued as she points to the mug in her hands. Junkrat shrugged and leaned over a bit to get other mug, answering vaguely: “Kinda, didn't know how'dya like it 'n' Roadie wouldn't've known neither, so yeah … Hope ya like it black, two piece'a sugar.” He mumbled something, and Mei could have sworn it was something along the lines of “Although you're already sweet enough”, but she gave it not much thought and eventually blamed her half-asleep brain for her admittedly wishful thinking.

They stayed like this for a moment, silently sipping on bitter-sweet coffee which to Mei's surprise was fairly good until she just had to speak her mind:

“I am … surprised to see you here. I mean-- Please don't be mad-- I-I thought … maybe you'd be gone in the morning.” Her eyes were kind and as brown as her hair, like some fancy wood rich people made furniture of, really rich and deep and nice and Junkrat's couldn't stop looking at them as she confessed her worries to him. She, in return, could see his face without soot and dust, the way his sharp cheekbones and chin made his face look hard. She could see melanomas of skin cancer (Angela ensured him they were not of the bad kind and the treatment he got would show its effects in a few week to months) and stubbles and … freckles. That was new to her, and she almost did not notice because she suddenly felt Jamison's hand reaching down, pressing into the mattress next to her leg and planting a small kiss on her forehead.

 

“Well, shucks, guess I have ta disappoint'ya, snowflake. Thought 'bout it when I left ta get some of the brew 'ere, bu' guess daz would've left me in a pretty bad light, ain't ya think so?”, Junkrat chuckled, taking another sip before he adds: “I mean … who knows if I ever get the chance ta … like, be like dis with ya, like, ever again.” She gives him a flushed, almost embarrassed look, touched and confused by this statement. She put her mug aside and her warm hand found its way on top of his flesh hand. He raised a brow and he saw her smile and the blush on her cheeks and before he could say or do anything she took away his coffee, swiftly placed it next to hers, and her other arm curls around his neck, pressing their chests and lips together.

The kiss was forceful, all teeth and tongue until both calmed down, until both understood this was not going to end so soon. She kissed so gentle and he kissed shy, like a wild animal, _because not all animals attack you_ , he thought to himself. He leaned down to press her back into the mattress and she would let him, willingly accepting that he was more than a guest for one night. _Because some animals get to know the love and care of a human being_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! This is dedicated to my dearest Honeydew, I guess.


End file.
